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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23107294">Ghosts of Facebooks Past</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblesandsmears/pseuds/scribblesandsmears'>scribblesandsmears</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Comfort, Facebook sucks, Family Feels, Sad with a Happy Ending</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 14:54:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,039</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23107294</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblesandsmears/pseuds/scribblesandsmears</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A trip down Facebook memory lane causes grief, but the Winchesters come to the rescue.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ghosts of Facebooks Past</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>we out here going through it. hope you enjoy and get some type of comforting feelings out of it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It all started with Facebook.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Perusing Facebook is generally not a great idea for anyone, but for a hunter who’s lost all her friends, it’s actually pretty stupid.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And by lost I don’t mean dead. Sure, some hunters you’ve crossed paths with have bit it, but that’s not what we’re talking about here. These are people from your old life. They only exist to you on things like Facebook now. It feels like a whole other lifetime to you. You try not to dwell on it, but sometimes you see things that remind you of them and the food they liked and the jokes you shared and you can’t help but wonder what became of them when you left. You quite literally picked up and left. It was for their own safety. You’d have dragged them into danger with just the sheer knowledge of what was going on with you. You left a note apologizing and a bottle of wine on their doorstep, changed your number, deleted social media, and you were off.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Today, the whole trying-not-to-dwell thing came to an end. You were sitting in your room in the bunker (the Winchester’s home that has now become somewhat of a “home” to you as well) when curiosity mixed with a deep longing. You pulled out your phone and created a fake Facebook account. With shaking hands, you typed in the name of one of your friends. Her account was not private. Her profile picture was of her and her husband, your other close friend. They had gotten married about a year before you left. You were in the wedding and everything. They were coming up on what would probably be their sixth anniversary now.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You took a deep breath before scrolling down. There was no going back now. A couple posts about a promotion and a successful career at the top tugged at your heart. But you couldn’t prepare yourself for what you saw a couple posts down.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A baby.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You blinked and scrolled further. The same baby, looking to be about a month old in a recent photo, flooded her profile for weeks. Then round belly pregnancy photos, sonograms, posts about morning sickness and heart burn. All of it. They have a baby. They’re parents now.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With an aching in your chest, conversations flooded back to you. Talks about the future, being the godparents to each others kids. How you swore you’d be in the delivery room from the first contraction and wouldn’t leave unless the doctors physically kicked you out. How you vowed to babysit for them whenever they needed to get out of the house. How you made a list of all the bad words and funny phrases you were gonna teach the kid.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The pain in your chest spread, filling your body with a sad and empty aching feeling. You were supposed to be there. Breathing was getting harder. Your heart was wrenching. A wave of depression was creeping up over you, ready to blanket you in your bed for the next few days. You locked your phone, laid down, and let it take you.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">******</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You had been laying on your side, staring blankly at the wall for who knows how long. It was morning now. You can’t remember whether or not you slept. A knock on the door is what broke up the staring into space.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come in,” you croaked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The door swung open to reveal Dean.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, kid. You all packed for that hunt? We’re heading out soon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Getting out of bed seemed like that worst thing in the world. It felt more impossible than walking on the moon or telling Dean to quit eating pie.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I actually think I’m gonna sit this one out,” you said, sitting up in your bed. “You guys go without me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dean looked you up and down, trying to read you.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You sure? We could really use your keen ass kicking skills.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You shook your head with a small smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nah, you guys got this. Besides, isn’t Cas going?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I guess.” He was still searching you to see if something was wrong. “Everything okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, yeah. Just tired.” You tried to nod reassuringly, not really certain how convincing you were being.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, alright. If you change your mind, let us know.” With that, he left the room to finish packing and you continued your staring contest with the wall.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">******</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A little while later, there was another knock at the door. Had you been less out of it, you probably would have guessed it was Sam coming to check on you. But this knock surprised you just as much as the first. Again, you had no idea how much time had passed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sam waited for your invitation to come in then poked his damn puppy dog eyes though the doorway. Even in your state of mind you felt a slight impact at the sight of them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” he said upon entering.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” you responded, sitting up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I just came to see if you were okay. Dean said you’re not up for a hunt?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You smiled a tired smile at him, hoping (again) that tired was the only feeling you conveyed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to leave you guys in the lurch or anything, I just-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He held up a hand to cut you off and sat at the foot of your bed. “Don’t apologize, it happens to all of us. But if something else is bothering you, you know you can tell us, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He searched your eyes in a way that made you shift uncomfortably. All you could do was nod and plaster some sort of smile to your face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m fine, Sam. Quit worrying.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiled wryly. “Yeah, not a chance.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With that, he exited the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts again.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">******</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sam couldn’t shake this unsettling feeling. He made his way to Dean’s room to confirm his brother’s concerns for you.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dean was perched on his bed waiting for him. He had halted his packing, for his gut was telling him they weren’t gonna want to go anywhere.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How’d she seem to you?” Dean questioned when Sam entered his room.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sam shook his head, brows furrowed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re right, Dean,” he started. “Something’s off with her.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think we oughta pass on this hunt.” Dean stood up. “I know some hunters in that area who’ll take the job.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dean made a couple phone calls and the hunt was off their hands. Now the hard part came, which was brainstorming how they were gonna help you. They came to the conclusion that the only place to start was getting you to talk. They can’t help much if they don’t know what the problem is.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">******</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once again, you are jolted back to reality with a knock at your door. This time you are way more confused when both brothers make their way into your room together.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You guys haven’t left yet?” You look at the time on your clock. “It’s getting late.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I think we’ll be sitting this one out too.” Dean sat on one side of your bed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You shot them both a questioning look.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re not really up for it either,” Sam continued. You caught on to his hesitation. “And we thought you could use the company.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Your stomach sank with dread as you realized they saw right through your earlier attempts at making everything seem fine. A sweaty, panicky feeling silenced you, but they carried on anyway.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Look, kid,” Dean started. “We know something’s up. Now I know I’m not the poster child for opening up about things, but you gotta let us in a little if we’re gonna help.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You couldn’t even begin to imagine what could “help” you through this right now.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sam sat down slowly on the other side of your bed, careful not to turn this into some kind of ambush.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Whatever it is, we can at least talk it out.” Sam offered.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There’s nothing to talk about,” you shrugged. “It’s nothing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You stared at your hands, realizing that by calling it an “it”, you were making it something. They could see through the bullshit from the minute Dean opened your door that morning. The idea of being vulnerable with anyone right now made you queasy. Because it reminded you of <em>them</em>. It reminded you of <em>home</em>. But still, they pressed on.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Dude, we’ve reached a certain level of friendship here,” Dean said. “I mean, hell, sometimes I even shit with the door open.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was trying to appeal to you with humor. And it wasn’t <em>not</em> working. But the word friendship plunged into your gut.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sam looked disappointedly at his brother and trekked on. “Dean’s right,” he said cautiously. “In some ways. What he means is you’re <em>family</em>. We can talk about things.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Family. </em>That did it. That twisted the knife and triggered your lip trembling. That’s what <em>they</em> were. Your family. And now they have a family of their own…</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Your slight change of expression did not go unnoticed. Sam and Dean exchanged glances, but waited quietly to see if you would add on.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All the Facebook photos were swimming around your head. That sweet baby, looking like a perfect mix of your friends DNA. All the years you’ve missed with them came tumbling out of your eyes, wetting your cheeks. You didn’t register that you were crying until you felt hands from either side of you rubbing your back gently.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You’re not sure how long it took for you to blubber it out, but you managed to explain your leaving to hunt, the pathetic bottle of wine and the vague and apologetic note, the years you spent longing for reconnection, the Facebook, the baby, all of it. They sat quietly, nodding and responding appropriately. Comfortable silence followed your disclosure until Sam spoke up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This must’ve been hard to carry the past few years,” he started softly. “I do sort of get it, though. I never had lifelong friends like that, but in college I lived with the same people for four years. We were close and it was hard to leave them all behind.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You appreciated this share of information. Sam rarely talks about that part of his life, seeing as it was well over a decade ago. But maybe it still hurts him too.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know a way we can fix something like this,” Dean said. “But we can sure as hell try to make it better. By being there for each other. A family. You don’t have to erase them to make room for us.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You nod gratefully at the two of them. He’s right about there not being a fix for it. You can’t go back and stop yourself from becoming a hunter. And you can’t reach out without endangering the lives of people you love, not to mention their baby. But you can still have a family.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And, hey. If Sammy gets pregnant, you are a shoo-in for godmother.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That cracked the three of you up (while also managing to disturb you at the same time). You sat for a little while longer, talking and laughing with one another. After some time, it was decided that tonight was a “self-care night”. Only no one called it that because that would make Dean gag. Probably. So “movie night" it was.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, Dean, you order the pizza and call Cas,” Sam commanded. “I’ll go get the Harry Potter DVDs and check for snacks.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You smiled as the three of you sprung into action. This was already proving to be a great way to feel better.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, and also,” Dean added on his way following Sam out the door. “It might help to delete that damn Facebook app.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You give an understanding nod in his direction, patting your bed in search of your phone.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When you unlock it, it’s still on your friend’s Facebook page. You felt your chest tighten as you took one last look at a picture of your two friends smiling in their home. But something caught your eye this time. You zoomed in on a shelf in the background. On it were knickknacks, a couple framed photos, a plant, and a familiar bottle of wine.</span>
</p>
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